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Monday, December 31, 2012

Today, I'm participating in Dale Eldon's "The Next Big Thing"
blog hop. If you're an author and would like to participate, please let me know!Thanks to Jordyn Redwood for inviting me! Check out her "Next Big Thing" here: Redwood's Medical Edge

1. What is the working title of your book? Conception, Moonbow, Book One 2. Where did the idea come from for the book? I dreamed the story about fifteen years ago. The dream was so vivid that I felt I needed to write the story.

3. What genre does your book fall under? Suspense/thriller, perhaps even sci-fi

4. What's the synopsis of your book?

Rayden Brooks, a fertility doctor, kidnaps Gisa, a young widow, pregnant after being inseminated with her
dead husband’s sperm. Or, so she believes. Rayden informs her she carries an embryonic clone, and Die Auserwahlten, the Chosen
Ones, want the unborn baby. Gisa flees and clashes with the doctor, whom she does not
trust, and with her pursuers. She must make choices that will alter her life
and the lives of others forever.

Are
some men born evil? What if they got a second chance?

5. Will you book be self-published or represented by an agency? self published

6. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? I've worked on it, off and on, for about a year.

7. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? Boys from Brazil. However, I approach the book from a totally different angle.

8. What else about your book might pique a reader's interest? One of the pivotal scenes is based on a real-life event (one of my family member's).

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Eternal Springs and Thundersnow, In the Shadow of the Cedar, Book 1, are free on Amazon today through Saturday. Click on the books in the sidebar if you would like a free ebook. If you do not have a Kindle, you can download an app for your computer. You are welcome to share! Thanks!

Friday, December 14, 2012

As often happens, and as I have mentioned before, certain topics and images enter my mind and then I will read articles and posts about the very thing I have been thinking of.

I have just finished Clothed in Thunder, and I’ve been going from depths of despair to periods of giddiness. How can it be that authors and other artists can be both self confident and so full of fear? That ecstasy can follow so quickly on the heels of agony?

On his blog, he had a picture with the words to The Progress of Poesy by Thomas Gray. I read these words in that poem: Two coursers of ethereal race,With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Whoa! What a coincidence that I read a blog post dealing with the very things I have been dealing with that included the words “thunder clothed.” (Probably would have been a better title for my book, but it’s too late now.)

Here are the last two verses of The Progress of Poesy (poesy means poetry, by the way)

Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy,The secrets of th' abyss to spy. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze,Where Angels tremble while they gaze,He saw; but blasted with excess of light,Closed his eyes in endless night.Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,Wide o'er the fields of glory bearTwo coursers of ethereal race,With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'erScatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more—— O Lyre divine! what daring Spirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inheritNor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bearSailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air:Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun: Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant wayBeyond the limits of a vulgar fate,Beneath the Good how far—but far above the Great.

So, what do these verses mean? I didn’t have a clue, but I’m always ready to explore. I googled to find analysis of this poem. I found that most people are as clueless as I am.

Yet, these words seem to reflect the feelings I have. Therefore, I decided to summon up my courage and take a stab at analyzing these last two stanzas.

Nor second he, that rode sublimeUpon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy,The secrets of th' abyss to spy.

To write this in simpler language, “Nor second he, that rode upon the angel wings of joy, the secrets of the deeps to see.” Now I am beginning to glimpse the meaning. When in the throes of creation, the artist, and I will equate this to a writer, sees deeper.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze,Where Angels tremble while they gaze,He saw; but blasted with excess of light,Closed his eyes in endless night.

When we write, we are submerged into a different place, a different time. Sometimes the images are so vivid and elicit such strong emotion that we must close our eyes.

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,Wide o'er the fields of glory bearTwo coursers of ethereal race,With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Dryden, of course, was a famous poet. Gray is giving his opinion—what exactly that is I don’t know. To reword it, “Behold, Dryden’s less true chariot, wide over the fields of glory bear two horses of heavenly race, that have necks clothed in thunder, and an impressive bearing.” It seems to me that Gray is saying that Dryden was popular and seemed impressive but was lacking in truth.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'erScatters from her pictured urnThoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Ooohhhh, I like this part. “Fancy” refers to the artist’s imagination. Notice that while he is exploring (his hands the lyre explore), that “Fancy” visits. I have seen this again and again. It’s when I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard that my imagination takes flight. If we are lucky we can actually create “thoughts that breathe” and “words that burn.”

Ha! Sounds like writer’s block to me. The “Theban eagle” refers to the famous poet Pindar of Thebes who died in 438 B.C. “Pinion” refers to the primary feathers of a bird. Pindar had the self respect (pride) and the talent (feathers) needed to rise to great heights. What of those of us lacking in those two things?

Yet oft before his infant eyes would runSuch forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun:Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant wayBeyond the limits of a vulgar fate,Beneath the Good how far—but far above the Great.

In other words, those of us with “infant eyes”? Although infants, we have images given to us by the “Muse”—whatever or whoever the “Muse” may be. I think most writers are aware of the muse in their writing lives. I believe in this context that “orient” refers to “radiant or glowing.” Therefore, I believe this is saying that even those of us who are not mature writers can still write beyond our skill, catching glimpses of beauty. Although we may not be “the eagle” (as Pindar was the eagle), we can still mount upon the eagle (our muse) and rise above our mediocrity.

Hmmmm…I can still catch the feeling in the last part about feeling inferior, unfit for the work we are doing, yet somehow still managing to surpass that and be able to sail, as Pindar did, upon the “azure deep of air.”

This reminds me of the verses:

Have you not known? Have you not heard?The Lord is the everlasting God,the Creator of the ends of the earth.He does not faint or grow weary;his understanding is unsearchable.He gives power to the faint,and to him who has no might he increases strength.Even youths shall faint and be weary,and young men shall fall exhausted;but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;they shall mount up with wings like eagles;they shall run and not be weary;they shall walk and not faint.

Yes, this is the way I feel. I am the “faint,” the one who “has no might.” And, I become anxious because I forget the “the Lord shall renew” my “strength.” He will allow me to “mount up with wings like eagles,” to “run and not be weary,” to write “and not faint.”

Praise be to God we do not have to rely on our own puny efforts—for that surely would be pure agony. Instead we can experience the ecstasy provided to us by God. Praise be!

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Some friends and I were having a discussion the other night. A couple of them said that they couldn't sing. But that's not true. We can all sing. The problem is that our singing may be so horrific that people cannot listen.

The same with dancing. We can all dance. However, sometimes it's painful to watch those with no sense of rhythm.

The same with writing. Some may tolerate our writing, even if we're writing "off key," even if we have no "rhythm." Some may even find it interesting. Much like William Hung who tried out for American Idol and became a media celebrity. But that type of celebrity is short lived.

Someone gave a stat the other day. Ten percent of people we come in contact with will dislike us. I'm sure that varies depending on the person. The point is that we will put our work out and at least ten percent of the population will dislike it. For no reason.

And it shouldn't matter to us. Especially Christian writers. We obey God and put our work out, not caring if 10, 20, or 50% dislike it. It's none of our business. It is only our business to put out quality work that glorifies our creator.

Yet, it's hard to beat down those feelings when we first publish a book. A lot of people have likened publishing a book with giving birth. Yes, it is a lot like that, but a lot more painful. At least for me.

I've said this before. When I write a book, I become immersed in the story. I am living the story. Most stories have a degree of conflict (otherwise how boring that would be!). So, I wrestle with the same problems as my characters. And, then, I publish the book. (Some people sit on their books for years before seeking publication. The following does not apply to them.)

With a baby, we are given years to "polish" the child. However, our books are pushed out into the world before our screams completely die down. Thus, our emotions are raw. We are vulnerable to the slightest slight. We are in the midst of postpartum depression. It doesn't take much to reduce us to tears.

Or, maybe that's just me.

We want people to revel with us in our joy of producing our work. We want people to wipe the sweat from our brow. We want people to support us on our wobbly legs.

I'm beginning to think that upon publishing a book a writer needs to completely distance themselves from it. Go on vacation. Take a cruise.

Yeah, I'll do that one day. Today, however, I have to stand upon my legs that wobble. I have to wipe my own sweat from my brow. I have to stuff my feelings down and repeat the mantra...I did my best. It's none of my business now who likes it. It's none of my business...it's none of my business...it's none of my business...